Cotton Wishes And Candy Dreams
It is a scientifically proven fact that the amount of cotton candy one
purchases is directly proportional to the amount of time one spends watching it
being made. The equation can be affected by only two variables:
X: The financial variable
"x", being the amount of money the watcher has or...
Y: The coercive variable
"y", being the level of ability the watcher has to convince his or
her parent or guardian that cotton candy is essential to life forms aged 12 and
under (only used in equations dealing with juvenile watchers).
No, I'm not exactly a mathematician or researcher, but I am cognizant of the
dynamics of cotton candy. I make it, no, create it every Saturday at Interskate
Roller Rink. See, cotton candy making is not only a potential business hook,
it's an art form. It seems like a huge rip-off, but it's not at all.
I can remember when I was younger and the arcades were the most amazing places
I'd ever been to. By today's standards, the place my parents took me to paled
in comparison, but back then, skeeball and go-carts (with strategically placed
colored lights to grab the eye) were the neatest thing since roller boogie. My
favorite part of the whole place, though, was the concession stand. I wasn't
allowed to ride the go carts and most 4-year-olds really suck at skeeball, but
I could order junk food like a pro. The beauty of the whole venture, however,
was the cotton candy machine.
There was an elderly man who used to run the machine and he made it fresh on
the cone, unlike today, where to keep up with the demand, you make it and whip
it into a bag for later.
"One cotton candy for me, please," I would say very politely and he'd
say,
"Yes, ma'am, young lady, one cotton candy coming up!"
At the time, I never really knew how the whole deal worked: you put in this
lumpy sugar and then you got pink flavored spider webs on a cone. But it was
magic to watch and magic to make. Dad always said he'd like to count the
billions this guy probably raked in just from my/Dad's money. I just laughed
and let the sticky sweetness melt in my mouth.
That, of course, was the bum deal part. It wasn't a lasting sensation on the
tongue, like, maybe a popsicle would've been. But, in a way, that kinda brings
out the magic in it. Nothing magical ever lasts and the ones that do don't last
forever, which is why it's magic. Otherwise, we'd study it, understand it and
it'd be science.
But, I digress...
Now that I'm older and can play with the machine, I try to apply the same
methods of grabbing interest. First I turn on the overhead light and fan of the
machine. Generally, that attracts a few kids, if they're nearby. You turn the
machine on and the whine of the centrifuge brings on 4 or 5 more. The sugar
gets poured into the center of the hot centrifuge and it starts melting the
sugar, making its high speed threads whirl out. I'm even still amazed watching
it happen, but the kids around me are slobbering. Even a few parents come over
and hold their kids up to see inside. At first, it's really light and faint,
but after a minute or two, the color begins to form in little rings around the
metal bin it sticks to the sides of.
Now, the last part's real important. You've got this beautiful circle of candy
floss all around the inside of the bin; how do you grab it and look cool? You
can't just make magic happen, then unfeelingly toss it into a bag as if to say
"NEXT!!!" So, you grab one end, lift it into the air as fast as
possible, then give it a little twist to get the other end up. The candy whirls
around in a pastel tornado and floats into your hand. Simple, easy, beautiful.
I, actually, never count the money I make, but it's not in the billions.
I do, however, count the awed faces I get, and that's right up there.
